


Closed Doors

by Medie



Category: Heroes - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Reality, M/M, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-02-25
Updated: 2010-02-25
Packaged: 2017-10-07 13:26:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,149
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/65580
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Medie/pseuds/Medie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Doesn't matter. They keep running. The towns are just stopovers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Closed Doors

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [](http://oxoniensis.dreamwidth.org/profile)[**oxoniensis**](http://oxoniensis.dreamwidth.org/)' latest porn battle.

It's a ramshackle house on the wrong side of town. What town is immaterial. One city becomes another becomes another still. Matt lost track three towns back, was never very good at keeping track anyway.

Doesn't matter. They keep running. The towns are just stopovers.

The door slams open, then shut with Mohinder pressed, full length, against it. "How much time have we got?" Matt asks, lips wandering the line of Mohinder's jaw. His hands slide down toward his hips, resting there, holding Mohinder in place as he goes.

"Enough," Mohinder gasps out. His arm raises over Matt's head, Matt gets a glimpse of a watch face and, _just enough if we --_, then it's gone and Mohinder's arm drops. The thought dies unfinished, replaced by a heated groan.

Matt laughs, feeling Mohinder's arms wrap around him. "Remember when this used to be fun and exotic?" Back when home had been a ramshackle loft instead, Sylar had been their chief concern, and The Company had been an abstract threat.

Back when they'd had all the time in the world and no idea how little that really was.

Mohinder huffs a laugh, pressing his face against Matt's neck. "You mean I've finally gone and grown boring?"

"Not a chance in hell," Matt says. He pulls back to look Mohinder in the eye. He's changed, they both have, the tension of the run playing hell on them both. There's less laughter in Mohinder's eyes, less joy, stolen by weeks and months of lying, running, and hiding. Hiding everything.

They'd never been 'out' exactly. Keeping secrets about powers and conspiracies made it that much easier. Closeted. It makes Matt's stomach churn to even think that he let it happen then, continues now, and worse, sees a reason for it.

He hates it with every passing second. Hates lying about Mohinder, about them, about _himself_, but there's too much at risk. Better to be nondescript, quiet, off the radar. The Company and Sylar both.

"Don't, Matt," Mohinder says. He leans forward, lips brushing Matt's cheek. "No one's business but ours. You betray nothing by -- "

"Hiding? Denying I'm me?" Matt's voice chokes up and he breathes out, heavy, letting the tension and the frustration slip out with it. "Swore I'd never do it again, Mohinder."

"And you haven't," Mohinder says. He smiles at Matt and there's a new strength in that. An ease with his own capabilities that grows by the day. "They know nothing of _us_. They know the names and the stories that we've given them. Outside this door, we don't exist, they do, but when this is all said and done -- " he kisses Matt fiercely. "No hiding. No shame."

It's not that pat. Matt knows it isn't. A few pretty words, however accurate, won't erase that gnawing sense of failure that comes with denying himself.

He can't be at peace with it, can't accept it, but maybe he can live with it.

For now.

"I hate this," Matt mutters. He turns his head, eyes downcast, seeking Mohinder's mouth on instinct alone. "I'm not ashamed of you."

"I know," Mohinder agrees, lips brushing Matt's. "It's not about shame, Matt, it's protecting ourselves. Our daughter. We draw attention, the Company might -- " It's a leap, a big one, but they've had near misses with bigger ones. "You _aren't_, Matt, anymore than I am." He presses their lips together, preventing Matt from arguing in any way but the one that would be cheating.

Mohinder's hand slides down between them, unfastening Matt's belt and pulling it free. Content to let him, Matt presses his palm flat against the door and deepens the kiss.

For now, this might be the only way, but he doesn't have to like it. He'll take his little rebellions where he can. Like the long, sweet press of Mohinder's mouth against his and the way Mohinder's tongue slides against his, twisting something down deep in Matt and sending heat and want spiraling out through his entire body.

He imagines them on the street, maybe in the worst heat of summer, fucking against the car. With his eyes shut, Matt can see the sweat-slick gleam of Mohinder's back, his shoulders bowed as he leans over the car. He can watch that Mohinder's body rise and fall with each slow, lazy thrust, feel him tighten around his cock, hear the slight hitch of every breath.

Matt bites back the groan, his hand going into Mohinder's curls again. He breaks the kiss, however reluctant, and presses a little smacking kiss against Mohinder's nose. "Don't move," he says, stepping back. "Okay?"

Amused, Mohinder slumps against the door. "All right."

"Good," Matt says. He unzips Mohinder's pants. He doesn't know how this happened, when all the frustration and claustrophobia infected the moment, but that's not what he wanted out of it. Not what he wanted to give Mohinder.

This was supposed to be fun. Carefree. No stress, frustration, and no goddamn fear.

Mohinder's cock is familiar in his hand. He takes a second and looks up letting his expression carry all his voice can't express. It's not good enough, but it has to be for now.

When it passes, when he looks back down, he holds Mohinder in his hand and then takes him into his mouth.

The response he gets is a soft, groan of his name and elegant fingers curling into his hair. Matt keeps going, moving in a rhythm, his knees protesting every second that passes. He ignores them, too conscious of time and Molly's homecoming, to care.

He focuses on Mohinder, on feeling him buck beneath him, body twisting and shaking with the urge to come. Feels his thoughts, thick and foggy with lust/love/desire and a litany of words and images he only barely understands as Mohinder begins to lose control.

With his free hand, Matt pulls out his own cock and strokes himself. It's nothing fancy, quick and efficient, but it gets the job done. When Mohinder comes, spilling himself down Matt's throat, Matt's not too far behind.

Enough, though, that Mohinder can slump to his knees and take over. His touch is gentler than Matt would use on himself, but it's _Mohinder_ and, most days, Matt just can't say no to the man.

"I believe," Mohinder says, amused, when they're both sprawled on the floor, completely spent, "we made a little mess."

"Nothing little about it," Matt huffs. He wants to close his eyes, drift, and relax, but nothing doing. He breathes deep. "All right," he says, "count of five and we get up. You get the mop, I'll get the bucket. Sound good?"

"No," Mohinder says, sighing, "but I'll do it anyway."

All evidence will be erased before Molly gets home and, when they move on in a few days, it'll be as if they'd never been.

It fucking sucks, but Mohinder's right, no way in hell it lasts.


End file.
